


Flower Boy

by froyobro



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Requested, Smut, throughout the years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:26:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22189366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froyobro/pseuds/froyobro
Summary: Bucky likes flowers and plants. That's it that's the post
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	Flower Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: okay. get this. Steve and bucky go to a plant nursery. This is my one request. It could be hella cute, bucky absolutely loves plants and steve has the opposite of a green thumb. - my friend Emm Piano Hand Chicken
> 
> I like...talked about flowers?? Very cute detail?? But hard to write a plot about them
> 
> Warning: porn at the end (2019) which means : friends i know who know my PARENTS, do NOT read. everyone else go crazy see ya on the flippity flop

1937

Bucky hated Steve’s allergies. They made his nose rosy with congestion; his throat closed up which caused more asthma attacks; and, especially during the winter and early spring, he was hot and cold all the time. The worst of all, however, was that he couldn’t go anywhere near flowers. 

Thing is, Bucky loved flowers. He and Steve would watch Bucky’s ma water the little plants and flowers on the window sill, and there was an old book that listed all known flowers in New York that Buck picked up from a swap meet when he was a teenager. Flowers were for pansies, but he still liked to look at them for some reason, so he kept it to himself. Steve was the only person to know, and to listen as Bucky flicked over the pages and point to different ones. 

He’d pass by a cart in Manhattan, or a wild field on the way home, and he’d want to pluck every single one that reminded him of Steve. He never did, because he feared might accidentally kill Steve, but he still passed through and touched petals, muttering the names. 

Forget-me-nots matched Steve’s eyes, the prayer plants mirrored the veins along his sharp artists’ hands, and, of course, the sunflower--It stood tall, strong. Its color was deep and rich, and it filled Bucky with some sort of emotion he couldn’t quite describe when he caressed his fingers along the petals reverently, crouched in front of them in the wild field. 

He’d better get home before Steve chews him out for being late for supper again.

  
  
  
  
  
  


1941

Steve loved what that serum did to his body. Holy shit did he love being strong. He loved being able to reach the top shelf, he loved not devolving into coughing fits that racked his lungs, and not having to smoke those lousy asthma cigarettes, and most of all he loved that Bucky still loved him despite his differences. Because, yes, being bigger and better so that he could  _ really _ help people mattered to him, but if Bucky didn’t love him, he’d go right back. He’d rather lose everything he had than lose Bucky, because he had Bucky before it all. 

Buck wasn’t exactly used to “your fuckin’ shoulders, holy shit,” he said in the tent one night, once life had calmed down in the barracks after two weeks of red tape in the aftermath of Steve’s impromptu prison break. Bucky forced him to take his shirt off once they walked in so he could “objectify you Stevie, duh.” He ran his hands up and down sinewy arms, grip light, then firm at the most muscular parts. Testing. 

“Y’don’t still have the asthma, right?” Bucky asked, his eyes slowly trailing from Steve’s body up to his eyes. It made him shiver, and Bucky grinned. They could read each other like no one else. 

“No. Right after I got the serum, there--there was an undercover Hydra rat, and he killed the doctor that gave me the serum.” Steve paused. Erskine. A pang went through him and Bucky saw it, and decided to bring it up later. He took a deep breath and continued, “So, I ran--”

“You ran after him,” Bucky deadpanned, then hit him hard in the chest, popping him on the right peck. It was a scolding gesture, but Steve knew he was also trying to cop a feel. He grinned at Bucky anyways, albeit a little bashful. 

Then, Bucky’s eyes grew distant and sorrowful, as if thinking about the worst thing imaginable. Steve was all of the sudden shoved onto his cot, which was slightly bigger than the other cots, and Bucky plopped right on top of him, hugging him closely and burying his face in Steve’s neck. “I don’t know what I’d do, Steve. If you die out here, I’ll--”

“Hey, Bucky.” Steve could feel him shake a little. He wrapped his arms around Buck’s waist a bit tighter and turned them so that they were facing each other on the bed--or, they would be facing each other if they weren’t so permanently intertwined. “No. I’m not leaving. Never ever ever.”

“You can’t promise that.”

Steve was quiet as he ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “If anyone should be worried, it should be me. You’re the squirt now, right? Too fragile to even touch.” He smiled a small smile that was joking, but he knew where Bucky was coming from. That continuous unspoken thread of understanding between them, like they were always tuned to the same frequency. 

In general, Steve sometimes curled into Bucky when he couldn’t be strong any longer, but oftentimes it was Bucky being soothed, and Steve liked it that way. It was a way for him to take care of Bucky, because it was always the other way around in every other area of their life. So Steve stroked Bucky’s hair, and rubbed his back, now with hands big enough to span nearly the entirety of Bucky’s trim waist. More trim since he’d been captured. It worried Steve, and he held that worry in his shoulders and the furrow of his brow. Bucky was too encapsulated in warmth and his need for comfort that he ignored it. 

They wrapped around each other like the blue-red-white barber poles signalling to New York all the barbers on the block. When Bucky began crying, and Steve’s shirt got soaked through, Steve lightly kissed all over his face and caressed him so gently. So, so gently. Bucky felt like he didn’t deserve it, and so he buried his head and didn’t stop crying, not really, just exhausted himself to sleep. 

  
  
  
  


1945

They were marching through the mountains. At the base of the one that led to the train tracks, Bucky saw a field of flowers. Well, not at first. 

When he realized the warm, constant presence at his left was missing (he was surprised he didn’t notice sooner), he didn’t immediately go into panic mode. It was annoying, seeing as Steve liked to sneak off all the time (he’d usually drag Buck along), but not concerning. 

Bucky scanned the woods they just exited, his sharp sniper’s eyes able to pick up on the texture of the land better than anyone else. There was movement in the distance, but its gait was too small. A doe maybe. He still couldn’t see Steve.

Okay, so, Bucky did not normally panic when Steve walked off. But they were in enemy territory, on a dangerous mission. And Bucky, well, he just had a sinking feeling about today.

As second in command, he told the Howlies to hold up a second while “I find our shining star, or as I like to call him, a pain in the ass.” 

Dum-Dum grinned, and Bucky knew he was about to get pissed off. “Well, when he’s a pain in the ass, you don’t usually call him your shining star.”

Falsworth snorted. “’Oh, yes Stevie!’” 

Dernier. “‘Right there!’”

Morita. “‘Get the fuck off me now!’”

Gabe wouldn’t say anything, but his smile hinted that he had a good one that he’d say if he were a stupider man. 

Bucky took the flask of coffee from Dugan out of his hand while he was laughing and chugged the whole bottle while making direct eye contact. Dum-Dum made a grab but Bucky moved backwards with agile grace into the forest. Not to mention he also pulled his handgun out of its holster. 

“Start marching up the hill, assholes.” He then threw with impeccable aim so that Dernier got the cap to the face and Falsworth got the mug to the balls. Morita curled into himself to brace himself for whatever Barnes had coming, but nothing happened. 

“Fuck, he’s pulling psychological warfare on me now,” Morita muttered. “He knows just how to haunt me.” 

“Tell me not to fuck with Barnes when I haven’t gotten my damned coffee because now I’m not gonna function today.”

“Maybe you should just not make fun of him and Steve,” Gabe posed.

Everyone laughed again. “They’re our best fuckin’ material! Those two are sick for each other, and nothin’ we say will change that, so I’m not too worried,” replied Morita.

Once he was a bit deeper into the forest, Bucky stood still, closed his eyes, and focused on the sounds of the living, breathing forest. Trying to find the hiccup, no, the *tumor* that was Steve Rogers. 

Finally, he heard the crunch of a boot, a very familiar boot, and he walked towards it like it was the light at the end of the tunnel, shouldering his rifle on the way.

“I oughta kick your ass for goin’ off like that for the thousandth time.”   
Steve glanced up to grin wryly at Bucky. “Then how would I get you alone?”

With an eye-roll (and tinged cheeks), the brunet walked up next to Steve and shoved his shoulder with his own. 

“You found a meadow.”

“I found a meadow,” Steve parroted. “Now tell me about the flowers.” 

Bucky had told him one night, when he was soft and love would not stop pouring from his mouth, about the flowers he had loved to see in New York, and how they were like little puzzle pieces of Steve. How sad he was that he couldn’t give them to him, not only because of the allergies but because of the social risks. Buck had to maintain an image back then. 

In the middle of a warzone, however, you learn not to give a flying fuck. 

So Bucky kissed Steve gently on the lips, then sat him down on the cold, dewey grass, and walked around the meadow. The grass came up to his knees, and if he wasn't wearing his military uniform, he would be able to feel the bristles, maybe get paranoid about ticks. He studied the flowers that caught his eye, and after a few minutes (he didn’t want to take too long because they did have to catch up to the commandos), he arranged a little messy bouquet damp with snow and plopped down next to his love. There weren’t many flowers sprouting this time of year, so there were only small flowers like pansies (like you, Stevie), primroses, and violas. He didn’t look at Steve when he handed them over, but leaned in to press a solid kiss to his cheek, one that was hard enough to feel. It always made Steve blush.

“Thank you Buck,” He whispered, delicately tucking the bouquet in a pocket on the side of his army-regulated pack. 

They climbed the mountain together. Bucky looked down at the tracks, and a hot strike of fear raced through him. 

Zola, *fucking Zola,* was on that train. He could get captured again. Steve could get captured, and he could get captured again and experimented on and he could get captured again and tortured and.

And Steve gripped his shoulder, warmth spreading from that point of contact through the rest of his body. Only, this time, that warmth evaded his chest. All that remained was a vacuum. 

  
  
  
  


1959

They would not stop hosing it, the asset, down with water. It hurt, the spray. Only now, the asset didn’t cry like it used to. It retreated to the back of its mind, to the edge of something peaceful. It could almost see a face, but that face always eluded it, like trying to grasp one of its translucent dreams before it was completely defrosted. Or the smoke that dissipates after the rifle fires. 

They were hosing it down because it jumped out of the truck again. Only this time, it really really did not plan to. 

The truck had rocked side to side, and the asset had its wrists, both flesh and metal, cuffed to the bench, only giving it enough movement to disassemble and reassemble its gun. One of the handlers around it had the button that would shock the asset’s whole body, and it would never know which one of them had it. However, the asset was getting smarter, as its brain was drilled and blended with chemicals routinely. It knew that the man closest to the front held it in his right shoe, for instance. It could hear the faint hum of the electricity in the device, on and ready to be used. The asset was still hiding the extent of its abilities, if for nothing else than to have at least one thing to itself that these men couldn’t take. It could see and hear up to a hundred yards away, but they still believed it only had a slightly higher than average aptitude (and intelligence). 

The truck flap came undone and lifted momentarily, revealing bursts of color that took up the asset’s entire focus. It was like a wonderful thrill exploded in its chest, something it had never felt before (or had it?). 

The decision was made before it could even think of the logistics. When it jumped up, it made sure to climb out and crush the soldier’s foot in order to destroy the insidious little button. It felt a small voltage through its body but the pain was negligible. It bolted into the field of flowers, flowers that took up acres. They were in France, but it didn’t know how it knew that. And the flowers, they sent a spark through its body, something it hadn’t felt since it saw that sickly blond boy in Kuwait. It ran down the fields faster and faster, and the smell intoxicated it. Violets, lavender, jasmine, all permeated the wonderful fresh air. It wanted to roll around and stay, and it felt a warm tug in its gut, but it could hear the shouts and shots, so it pumped its legs faster. None of those soldiers could catch the asset on foot, and everyone knew that. With every large inhale, the scent of heaven filled all the dark crevices within himself.

When the helicopter came, the asset felt pain in the back of its eyes and within its chest cavity, but it pushed it down to lie on the ground, the face already in the dirt, hands behind its back. And the pain began all over again, and it was hosed down.

When they stuffed it with drugs later on, it became too enhanced to trick its handlers. Sound and sight were so clear that it caused the asset pain. After that, it had only its dreams and the cold, which it forgot the next time it got wiped.

The dreams always came back, however. Eventually. 

  
  
  
  
  


2015

Steven Grant Rogers had a will stronger than God, it seemed. No matter how far Bucky ran, he had found a way to be on his heels. Probably Natalia. That flying guy, too--despite being a pain in the ass--seemed a valuable asset to Rogers’ new team. They finally found him in Bucharest and Bucky hadn’t been able to shake them since. 

He liked being called Bucky, even with the whole identity crisis thing. Especially with the whole identity crisis thing. When Rogers said it over a year ago, his whole life changed, and ultimately for the better. So, he agreed to go on a crusade with these new soldiers to destroy the organization that destroyed him. But man, was Steven Grant Rogers a stubborn pain in the ass.

“Buck, just listen--”

“Rogers, you are *not* going in alone. If you do, I’m killing Hydra on my own.”

Steve snorted, and his confidence made Bucky bristle. “Not if I kill them first.” More like, kill most and arrest anyone still alive after the building explodes. Steve couldn’t kill people with third degree burns crawling on their hands and knees out of their destroyed cockroach holes. Bucky had still shot a few point blank towards the beginning of the crusade, but when Rogers didn’t speak to him for a day, he found other ways to get back. 

(By dragging them by the neck to the edge of the land, making sure they hit rocks and poison ivy and his boots. A lot.) 

“It’s a damned fort, Steve,” Sam added. “You’re about as subtle as an anvil or a piano that falls from the fucking sky. Why even--oh, fuck no.” 

Rogers looked away once Bucky figured out what Sam had just figured out. Nat walked out of the room. 

The big stupid blond stood up from the too-small wooden chair in their cheap motel room and tried to make himself even bigger and stupider as Bucky marched up to him and pushed his shoulders so hard he got shoved into the counter.    
“Barnes!” Sam shouted, but Steve said, “Go ahead, do your worst. I’m still goin’.” He wanted a reaction, wanted a fight from Buck. 

“You’re a suicidal idiot,” Bucky snarled in a low voice, his face mere inches from Rogers’, before marching out and slamming the door so hard that the walls vibrated. 

Nat walked back in seamlessly and elegantly folded herself into the chair previously taken by Steve. 

Then it was Sam’s turn to be pissed. “For once I agree with the cyborg. You’re not going alone.”

“I won’t be alone,” Steve amended. “You guys will be outside, and I’ll still have the comms. They just need to put me in a cell for a few minutes or so, and then you’ll help me figure out the locks, and we can save the prisoners. This place has more inmates than staff, last time the stats were updated. We can’t just blow up the place like usual and let those people die.” 

Nat kept quiet. “I should go instead. Or Barnes.”

Steve shook his head. “Neither of you are gettin’ in their hands again. Ever. This is something I will not budge on.” 

Nat nodded, and sent a small smile to Steve, ones only a special few got to see. She wasn’t a coward, but if she was in their hands again, who knows what they would say or do. She could kill and maim them, but she didn’t want to sneak among them, at least, not without practice, the practice of schooling that spike of emotion and panic whenever she imagined their faces and the chairs and the rooms and the smells and the sounds and countless Pavlovian responses drilled into every aspect of her horrific upbringing. 

She and Steve talked often to each other about these things. He knew, he understood, and he didn’t judge. To Natasha, Steve was her second, after Clint. Her second brother. And she thought she couldn’t have a family again, but Steve Rogers had always managed to prove everyone wrong.

And of course the mission didn’t go as planned. 

Barnes didn’t show up until an hour before they were supposed to arrive at the Hydra facility, and he went up front, blending in with the night forest so no one could see him (except Natalia). He was giving the cold shoulder to Steve, to everyone for letting Steve do this. Yes, a colder shoulder than normal. Har har, Nat.

Steve motioned for everyone to gather under the arch of two large trees to remain hidden from above. “Stay,” he whispered, like they expected him to, and turned to the building, taking a deep breath before marching on. Bucky grabbed his arm before he could get too far, however. 

“I hate you, Steve,” He whispered under his breath, slipping a small flower-- a forget-me-not-- into his chest pocket and smoothing the idiot costume down afterwards. Sam and Nat were too far away to see anything. Then, he disappeared again. 

Bucky didn’t know that Steve was planning to simply walk up the front door and knock, yelling, “Captain America here, did someone order an assbeating?” Sam, despite himself, snorted through the comms. Bucky was tempted to use his scope and shoot Steve and Sam right between the eyes.

Immediately all of the lights came up and dozens of soldiers with cartoonishly unrealistic large guns began advancing on Steve. Unfortunately, Bucky was not allowed to gun them all down with his realistic large gun because they needed to believe Steve was on a suicide mission. (Not too hard to buy.) Still, a number of them turned to the forest and shot blindly. Bucky watched, faintly amused, from his perch. Sam and Nat were already in the air and heading for the roof. 

Steve was winning for a long time, and Bucky hoped that maybe, despite this being one of the biggest facilities they’ve ever targeted, Steve could just kill them all now and they could avoid the rest of the mess he had intended to make. 

Then they shot him in the leg and this was not what Bucky wanted to see. He reported to Nat and Sam in the comms and then climbed down the tree in case he needed to run on foot to get Steve out of there. However, it was too late. He was dragged in, and their eyes locked for a second, and Bucky saw the fear in Steve’s eyes before he could school his features for Bucky’s sake. 

Then the doors shut.

“He’s in, guys.” Bucky already wanted to ask Steve for a status update, but that was impossible. However, they could all hear what people were saying to Steve.

It made Bucky’s blood boil. 

Steve kept his mouth shut for once, trying to minimize punishment so he could have more strength to break out. “Wow, poor Rogers. I bet he’s exploding with the need to talk back,” Sam said. 

“We need to abort,” Bucky ignored Sam. “Rogers, the mission is--”

“NO!” Steve exclaimed, followed by a cry out in pain, through the comms and the three shut up immediately. 

Nat eventually said, “Okay, Steve. We’ll still go through with it. Don’t go compromising yourself.”

Bucky’s skin stretched tight over his bones, it seemed. He felt so damn powerless, and if he had never agreed to following Rogers around like a puppy once again, he could have avoided all this stress. Easier to just blow up everything alone and ignore the consequences.

Easier to walk away. 

“Dropping Widow onto the rafters in five, four…”

Steve’s voice cut in, stating to the guards, “This isn’t a prisoner’s cell.” Bucky swallowed, his breath stuck in his throat. 

“We have special plans for you, Captain. After all, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!” 

“I’m in,” Nat whispered at the same time, and he could hear her light steps on what sounded like a metal walkway. 

“Swooping around to grab Barnes,” Sam added. Soon enough, he was hovering above Bucky and activated the magnetic zones on his suit for Barnes to latch on to. (Bucky still hated flying with Sam: it was the one time he didn’t look cool. Steve always laughed (Until it was his turn).)

Within minutes the two men were on the same catwalk that Widow had traversed, only they went a different direction. Nat located the control room and was slowly hacking into the local database, but without Steve’s intel she had to rely on her own knowledge of Hydra facilities to figure out the cells. “Cameras disabled for twenty minutes, maybe less. Come on in, boys.”

Sam and Bucky were on the hunt for Steve. Sam was, unfortunately, a very good friend. He, unfortunately, did not trust Bucky as high as he could deadlift him (“because I have thrown you before and will throw you again, Barnes”). So, Bucky was being supervised as he followed the heat signatures through his goggles. Not that Sam would ever know, but it made Bucky feel a little better knowing that someone would take him out if he went rogue again. He knew Sam wouldn’t hesitate, not if it threatened the lives of others. 

Didn’t mean he had to like the guy. After all, he was the New Bucky for Steve. The best friend.

Original Bucky shoved him ‘by accident’ as he trudged in front to check for any agents ahead. “Watch it, tin can,” Sam muttered.

“You remind me of Tony Stark.”

“Take that back.”

“No.”

“If you two don’t shut your mouths, I’m going to sew them shut with the dick veins of these Hydra agents,” Natasha barked, obviously stressed. 

Bucky and Sam shut up, though Sam wanted to add, “gonna be some pretty short string.” Not the time. 

And then the comms screeched and deactivated, right after they all heard Steve say, “Wait, no--”

Bucky thought that he would freak out, but instead his mind went deathly quiet. There was no movement in his chest, no hint of anxiety or rage. He was a shell. And that made him focused. Made him into the guy who says “the shortest distance from A to B is a straight fucking line, don’t matter if there’s a steel wall or an ocean in the way.” 

And when he started sprinting with the handgun in one hand and his favorite knife in the other, Sam was on his heels. 

They only had a few more minutes before some goons would figure out they were in the building. And Steve, well, from what Bucky knew, Steve didn’t have much time either. 

Bucky wished he could feel the ache in his legs when he ran hard, like when he was younger and running around the schoolyard with Steve on his back--just so he could tell that he was doing  _ something _ , expending even a little energy to find him. To find Him. Steve. 

“Sam, you need to pick up the pace,” He said loud enough to be heard over the Falcon’s labored breaths and their footfalls. 

“Barnes, I can’t open my fuckin’ wings in here, okay? Just shut up and run. I’m going to go to the tech room to get Nat. We might need to head out of here to avoid casualties.”

They heard a gunshot in the direction of the HQ--where Nat was--and Sam bolted. “So much for no casualties,” Bucky muttered, then turned down the hallway, first left, then right, then up those stairs. Good thing they fucked up his brain enough to include the floor layout of most Hydra lairs. He’d never been here before, but he knew it like the back of his hand. Probably better, since he hasn’t seen the back of his hand in over 70 years. 

Thanks to Bucky’s enhanced hearing, he heard the screams a lot earlier than normal-hearing people could have. When he reached the door, he looked through the double-reinforced plexi-glass window. Steve was trying to keep his mouth shut, and Bucky took in all the details of his beautiful face crumpled and screwed up, his teeth gritted so hard it looked like they might crack under pressure. 

He was in the chair. 

Bucky walked down the hall so that his footfalls made no sound, then vomited, stomach violently churning. Electricity seemed to be fogging up his brain again, the pain sparking in random parts like phantom limbs waking up and shocking him all over. He punched the wall with his right hand. 

Focus.

You need to save Steve. 

Steve. You need to save Steve. 

The chair isn’t real. It’s just in your mind, Steve is sitting in a normal chair. Getting near this chair won’t kill you. It won’t take your whole world away from you, it won’t take your mind. 

Get in there and save Steve. 

When he walked back, a lab coat was standing to the right, and Steve’s eyes were closed. The metal cuffs around his wrists were tight enough to cut off circulation to his hands, the rest of his body tied up with some sort of reinforced rope. And now Steve was unreactive. Not a good sign. 

Before Bucky could kick open the door, he heard two sets of footsteps to the left and lifted his hand gun, waiting for the bodies to turn the corner before firing. Then he heard, “Barnes,” and put back down his gun. Nat and Sam were the only ones turning the corner. 

“We didn’t have enough time to figure out how to mass-release all the prisoners,” Sam said, frowning. “We need to get them all out manually if we want to get them out.”

“I don’t care. We need to get Steve out first.” Bucky walked back to the door, nodded to the two, then shot the door knob twice. 

“If only it was socially acceptable to open all doors like that,” Nat said before dashing forward and going to town on the soldiers and lab coats in that Room. Sam followed quickly and he and Nat worked in unison, just like they trained for. Bucky marched to Steve, his target now the scientist next to the machine. He couldn’t shoot the control box or else it would fry Steve to death (as he was warned by his handlers in 1979. Hydra didn’t lie about their torture devices.). The scientist was now cowering behind it, trying to type on a laptop connected. Soon, buttons started glowing green on the monitor as if screaming “push me!” Bucky slit the scientist’s throat, then started typing furiously on the computer. In 1998 they downloaded hacking software into his brain and updated the software periodically until he fucked them up, not knowing that one day he would be using it against them. As he was about to turn off the whole system, however, the butt of a gun smashed against the monitor, right on the biggest switch.

And Steve’s body came alive again. Bucky snarled--like a rabid dog if you asked Sam--and punched the Hydra bastard hard enough to dislocate his jaw. Then he turned immediately to Steve and was about to jump on him in an attempt to at least stop some of the electricity before Nat stepped forward and pulled out a device that, once pressed to the reinforced rope, short-circuited the thing and unlocked the metal cuffs. It made Steve’s body jump, then fall limp, his head falling forward carelessly. Bucky unplugged the cord and, as quickly and gently as possible, unwrapped it. There were burn marks where Bucky could see skin, and he saw red. He focused instead on lifting Steve up bridal style—“Not as light as he looks, is he?” Sam grunted as he threw another punch, then grinned at Buck. There was worry in his eyes, however. 

“I’m going to take him outside and drop his dumbass off, then I’ll come back in and help you guys.”

Nat replied without missing a beat, “Copy that. Now move it.” 

On the way out there were a few obstacles but the Winter Soldier had no problem shooting his way out, throwing Steve over his shoulder so he had a free hand. At the entrance, he set Steve down and worked at the control panel. Within a minute the big doors were opening and Bucky picked Steve up again. 

“Bucky…” Steve whispered, his eye swollen shut but trying to open anyways. He fell back under soon after. 

“It’s okay, Steve. I’m gonna get you safe. Just sit tight.” He tried not to clutch the blond to his chest, suddenly filled with an unexplainable pang of longing and fear, fear of losing Steve. He knew that he’d be okay, but all of the events from earlier hit him, and he stumbled a bit, knees almost buckling. 

He could have lost Steve. All because he was too cowardly to storm in right away.

*No room for pity right now, Barnes,* he told himself and trudged through the forest now chewed up a bit by the gunfire from earlier. Finally, he found a clearing.

A meadow. 

It left something to desire within him, a very faint memory starting to form before his eyes. He couldn’t have a memory revival right now, he had to help his teammates. So, Bucky leaned Steve against a tree and gave him a few small slaps. When he didn’t wake up, Bucky rolled his eyes and hit him hard enough for his head to whip from one side to the other. Steve groaned, and Bucky breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Good, your idiocy hasn’t killed you this time either,” Bucky remarked casually instead. He began wrapping a tourniquet just above the bullet wound on Steve’s thigh, using his belt to tighten it. 

“Shut up.” His voice was strained. 

Bucky turned Steve’s face with his hands, both flesh and metal, pressed to his rosy cheeks. “I have to help Nat and Sam. I want you to stay here and patch yourself up. If you hear an explosion, stay here for ten minutes. If we don’t come back, haul your sorry ass to the safehouse.”

Steve squinted open one eye. “If you kill yourself I’m gonna kill you.” 

“Funny,” Bucky said as he was walking away, “I was gonna say the same thing earlier today. Asshole.”

Then Bucky sprinted back to the facility.

  
  


Nat and Sam led the freed prisoners through the forest into a clearing that had train tracks. 

“Listen up, everyone!” Sam yelled once and the people actually listened, too shell-shocked to really talk anyways. “The train will be here in 30 minutes. Get on it; the ride is already covered. When you reach the end of the tracks, there will be a group of people waiting. Jjust say Nomad sent you.” 

Nat added, “Any questions?”

One frail man raised his hand and asked, “What if they come back for us?” 

Bucky stepped forward for the first time, and the crowd collectively flinched. He ignored it in favor of pulling out what looked like a remote. “They won’t be a problem,” He said with a hint of humor that only Steve would have noticed, then pressed a button. A few seconds later, the ground shook and the sound of one major facility crumbling to the ground echoed in the clearing. The crowd turned around instantly to watch the plume in the distance rise higher and higher. One woman yelled at the top of her lungs in happiness and screamed, “You bastards will burn in hell!” And soon the rest of the group followed suit. Nat and Sam smiled at each other, but Bucky had bigger fish to fry. He walked back to the jet Sam had commandeered a while back from a hydra facility and found one asshole trying to get up off his cot.

“Don’t make me cuff you to that cot, Rogers.” 

“Usually I get asked to dinner first, but…”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky growled without malice, rummaging through the medicine cabinet for the things he needed to clean Steve up. Once he got everything, he set them out on the desk next to the bed. “How are you feeling,” he asked seriously, if not completely fed up.

“Feel like I got shot in the leg and then tortured and electrocuted to shit ,” Steve deadpanned right back. “I’ll walk it off by tomorrow, so stop mother-henning me, Barnes.” Steve turned away (dramatically; the brunet rolled his eyes). Bucky sat on his bed and tugged his shoulder so he turned back over. It took a bit of effort, and he was reluctant to face him. 

“How are you feeling, Steve.” 

The blond finally looked Bucky in the eyes and gulped, clenching his jaw. He scooted over to the edge of the bed and patted for Bucky to lie down next to him. For the first time, he didn’t object (Steve always offered *(asked)* Bucky to sleep in his ‘giant’ king bed if he had a nightmare, but Bucky always declined. Playing too close with fire, or something like that). 

“I’m just pushing forward. Always pushing forward no matter what comes my way. Cuz what else is there for me to do?” His eyes were screwed shut; he felt so powerless in this moment, finally letting the emotional exhaustion sink in. “I’m Captain America, Nomad, whatever. People need me.” He turned on his side and faced Bucky, eyes big and glassy. He whispered after a minute, “I’m so tired, Buck.”

Bucky sighed and took Steve’s right hand in his own. Their hands were clasped together between them. “You could let it all go. Step in when things get so bad they need Cap, but not a moment sooner. You deserve to make a home as Steve Rogers, not that other guy.” Steve closed his eyes, squeezing so hard that tears fall down, over his nose and onto the pillow. His long eyelashes sparkled, his full lips quivered. Even when he was crying, Steve was breathtaking. “Let go. Let. Go.”

They were both whispering at this point, in a little bubble made of bulletproof glass. Nothing gets in, nothing gets out. “I don’t know if I can do that, Bucky.”

“You can, and someday, I hope to God you will. Because I know for a fact that if you don’t, I’m going to lose you sooner than later.” 

Steve just shook his head, the tears a steady stream now. “I don’t even know where you and I stand. Do you even love me anymore? Do you even r-remember?” His voice cracked at the last word. His eyes were still tightly closed, not letting himself face his words. 

Bucky decided to say Fuck It, ignore all he had been holding onto inside, and gather Steve in his arms. He couldn’t tell Steve to let go and then not try to do it for himself. The closeness was intoxicating, and it made Bucky nauseous with how much he missed human contact, how much he missed *Steve’s* human contact. How much he felt unworthy. Ice cold sin encasing holy fire. Burning so good. 

He pressed his cheek to Steve’s lovely hair and whispered close to his ear, “I remember most of it. I remember us enough to be the man who still loves you through all this time.” In his voice there was longing, regret. Sadness. Love. 

Steve threw his arms around Bucky’s strong body and hid his face in the crook of his neck. “I miss you.” 

“I’m not the same anymore, Steve.” 

“I’m not either, and you know that. And no matter what, you’re my Bucky,” He said obstinately, if not fed up. “In any form, any way you change or stay the same, I will always love you. Because I know you. And I know there’s a red thread connecting us forever. Until the end of the line.” 

“I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve a good life after all I did.” It was Bucky’s turn to close his eyes, and Steve framed his face with his hands. “I don’t deserve it because I should want to do all I can to redeem myself, but all I want to do is lay down and die, to give up. Even just to live in the middle of nowhere and do nothing for the rest of my existence. But I keep fighting for you. You are the only thing I keep going for because you are here and you won’t leave. And I don’t deserve it.”

Steve clutched Bucky tighter to himself, as if trying to force them to become one. “Please don’t go. I can’t convince you that you’re a good man and that it wasn’t your fault, but I can ask you to stay. Please.”

Bucky chuckled lightly. “I can’t really go anywhere with the grip you got on me right now.”

“I can also bench press 2000 pounds,” Steve automatically replied without missing a beat. “So you should quiver in my presence.”

“Weird flex, but okay.”

“I am banning you from ever talking with Natasha again for that one.” They snorted. 

“I won’t leave, Steve,” Bucky finally said, serious. “You’re the one promise I can’t break, you know? End of the line.”

“End of the line.” 

Steve leaned back and they stared at each other, and Bucky tilted his head down to kiss the love of his life, and that was that.

  
  
  


2017

Steve gave up the Cap mantle and gave it to Sam, and Bucky thought, **Fucking Finally, I can take a breather.** World’s longest-lasting babysitter, Bucky called himself sometimes. Steve still went out on the field, but he was no longer a public figure who had to be held accountable for all of the world’s problems. He was no longer a superhero, unless the world had no other choice. Sam called for advice at least three times a week. So, besides Ultron knockoffs and maybe an evil scientist or two, Steve stayed home. 

The home he shared with Bucky. 

Bucky also didn’t completely abandon all efforts to eradicate nazis, but much of his time was spent in ‘retirement’ with Steve. He had a garden in the back that he religiously tended to, gathering fruits and vegetables for their meals and flowers for their vases. Bucky was always giving Steve flowers, and each time he received them he fell a little more in love. 

Their home was in the woods, but only about an hour from Brooklyn. Can’t take the city out of the boys, you know? They went up every other week or so to grab groceries, maybe a drink with Sam and Nat, and every so often there would be a fancy date night.

One afternoon in the city, they went to a plant nursery. Bucky had been waiting to go to one in the city recently, but they didn’t get around to it until now. They walked around, Bucky pointing at random greenery and naming them. 

Steve told him when they stopped in an aisle, “There’s a part of me that thinks you’re just yankin’ my tail. How can you still remember all of this?” 

They were holding hands--in public--which was still a novelty to Bucky and Steve. There’s always a little bit of residual fear, but they don’t care. Sometimes, Bucky will openly grope Steve at the grocery store (when no one’s looking), or wrap his arms around him in line protectively. He was a possessive animal is what he was, and Steve loved it all. 

“Well,” Bucky responded, analyzing a leaf in one hand as he squeezed Steve’s hand with the other, “I had to do a mission in China, and I lived on a farm with a very smart family.” Steve didn’t ask any more, he could put the pieces together. He wouldn’t want Bucky to divulge any more about the time because it was bad for him to remain in that head space. Rarely did HYDRA stories end well in Bucky’s (or anyone’s) case.

“I’m so lucky to have such a pretentious husband,” Steve said with a grin. 

Bucky frowned at him. “Hey, it’s charming.”

“You’re right,” he walked over and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Any rom-com would be lucky to have you.” 

Bucky shoved his shoulder, then dragged him down the aisle to another section that Steve couldn’t tell apart from the first. He watched as Bucky had a field day, and they ended up getting a cart and buying a lot of (too many) plants. They spent five minutes figuring out how to fit them all in the Uber, and the whole drive there Steve may have been ignoring Bucky. 

But Bucky didn’t give a shit because he still got the plants. He loves knowing that Steve really can’t tell Bucky no. Loves Steve in general. 

When they get home, they line their counter with the plants and look at them. 

“24, Buck? Really?”

“Did you want me to go back so we could make it a nice pretty number? Like 25?”

“Like 2.”

Bucky shrugged. “You’ll love them.” But on the inside he was laughing. Steve didn’t know shit about plants. 

“Buck,” Steve leveled with him, “I don’t know shit about plants.” 

“They don’t bite.” Then Bucky pointed to a flower towards the left end. “Except for that one.” 

“Of course you bought a plant that bites.” Steve rubbed his forehead in defeat. “I mean, it’s not breaking the bank, and it’s not bad for the house or anything. I’m just going to be reminded by my lack of skill when it comes to plants.” 

Bucky leaned forward and kissed him. “You’re going to be reminded of me.” 

Now, Steve smiled. “Guess it can’t be too bad, then.”

They leaned against each other and stared once more at the line of 24 (twenty-four) plants. “Stark’s gonna call our place a jungle.”

“Prolly gonna make a joke about anal somehow.”

“Lookin’ forward to that for the trillionth time.” 

They sighed and turned to the couch, deciding to set them around the house later in the day. Steve lied back on the couch, wrapping Bucky up so that they were clutching at each other, looking one another in the eyes. 

“Nap time?” Steve asked.    
“Nap time,” Bucky answered. 

Bucky came home in the evening a month later to the house covered with plants. Some were hanging, others were set down on counters and tabletops in little groups, making the house look somehow, miraculously not-cluttered. It wasn’t a minimalist space like Steve had it before Bucky moved in, that was for sure. It was, however, very well decorated. Bruce or Pepper, he was guessing.

“Steve?” He called out. “Did my plants somehow procreate?” He walked through the kitchen into the living room, and at the dining room table was a simple bouquet; small. It rested in an intricate glass vase the height of a pencil and the width of an iPhone. Pansies, primrose, violet…

“I added some baby’s breath and alyssum, too,” Said a voice behind him. Steve walked from the bedroom and was now standing at the entrance of the dining room, looking at Bucky fondly, albeit a little nervously. He was wearing a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tight across his chest and arms; along with pressed khakis that he personally knew framed that juicy ass so well. He looked good. 

“Steve, what’s all this for?” Bucky refused to put the dots together in case he was setting himself up for failure. 

The blond walked forward, hands in his pocket. “I know you like plants, so I kind of bought you a few.”

“We can’t possibly keep all of these in here, Steve,” Bucky responded automatically, not really paying attention to the conversation. More with the clenched hands Steve pulled out of his pocket. 

“Pick a hand,” He said, holding out his fists for Bucky to tap. 

He picked the right. Steve grinned. “Knew it,” he muttered, before turning his hand around and showing a small silver key. 

“Oh,” Bucky said. Steve didn’t stop smiling. 

“Come on, I’ll show you where this belongs.” He walked to the sliding back door that led to their woods in the backyard and opened it for Bucky. 

In the center of the small clearing before forest was a large greenhouse. Bucky’s mouth gaped and he froze. “Steve…”

“I was thinking...well I accidentally bought all these plants, why not find a little shed or something to put them in?”

He walked down the steps from the porch and almost ran inside, inhaling that intoxicating earthy scent. He already wants to spend as much time as he can here. There was even a little couch area, presumably for Steve to read while Bucky tended. 

Bucky looked through the place excitedly, marveling at the eco-friendly gadgets and organizational tools. “Stark?” He yelled, knowing that Steve was in there somewhere and could obviously hear him. 

“Yep. Free of charge, too.” 

“That’s surprising!” Bucky was tired of being away from Steve, so he walked back to the front, but his boyfriend was nowhere to be found. “Steve?” He walked outside. “Where did you--” he stopped when he saw Steve waiting at the bottom of the stairs, holding the flowers that were on the counter. Bucky walked slowly forward, gingerly taking the small bouquet Steve gave him. 

“You gave me flowers like these over seventy years ago, Buck. Do you remember that?”

He nodded wordlessly. 

“I thought I’d return the favor. You know, since I’m sweet on you too.”

“Steve…” His eyes turned soft and he stepped closer to Steve so he could kiss him. 

Steve was the first to back up, and he took the bouquet from Bucky’s hands to set it on the step. 

It felt as if it were happening in slow motion, but Bucky watched as Steve went from kneeling to put the bouquet down to kneeling on one knee and looking up at him. “James Buchanan Barnes. You are the partner of my life, and I want you to be secure in that promise. I want to know that you have my heart safe like I have yours. I need you in my life. Please, Bucky, be my husband so that I can love you for as long as I live.” 

“Of course you don’t ask,” Bucky responded without thinking, and Steve barked out a surprised laugh. He tugged Steve off his feet and lifted him up into his arms, kissing him fiercely. “I love you, Steven Grant Rogers. Of course, yes.” 

  
  
  


2019

One night they came home late from a club that Nat recommended, opening the door and falling through, giggling like they were in high school. Bucky had his arms around Steve’s small waist, and Steve had his hands in Bucky’s long hair, brushing it and sometimes clenching his fists in it, making Bucky growl and kiss him harder. The brunet pressed him to the now-closed front door and snaked one hand down to rub his husband’s cock through those damned tight jeans, trailing lightly and being an all-around tease. 

Steve grunted in his mouth and shoved them down the hall and up the stairs to their bedroom, clothes being literally ripped off and dropped without a second thought. A littering of shredded cloth led from the door to the bedroom, which would scare most people. 

Once on his back, Steve gathered Bucky to him, their bodies pressed together from the waist up, legs entangled like they were meant to fit together, puzzle pieces that automatically aligned, effortlessly. His hands ran up and down Bucky’s muscular back, digging into his shoulder blades, gripping his ass. Bucky attacked his neck--biting, nipping, sucking. He licked a stripe along the corner of Steve’s jaw up to that small spot behind his ear, then blew along it; Steve shivered inadvertently. 

“Buck, Bucky...c’mon…”

He leaned up on his elbows and grinned down at his love. “Tell me what you want, Steve. Tell me how to make you feel good.” He rubbed his thumbs gently across those rose-tinged cheeks. It directly opposed whatever sorcery he was doing with his hips, and Steve couldn’t help but squirm and whine. 

“You know what--hhn...what I want.” Steve tried to tug Bucky even closer to him, though it was currently physically impossible. 

He leaned down until those dark lips caressed the shell of Steve’s ear and whispered, “What dirty things do you want, baby?” Dark and sultry, and he knew that that odd sense of danger that accompanied his Winter-Soldiery mannerisms sent a spark right to Steve’s core. His hard eyes, his demanding kisses, those capable hands…

“I want you to touch me. Everywhere. I want you…” Steve stopped due to embarrassment and blushed down to his tits, and Bucky coaxed him with comforting, gentle hands.

“Now Stevie, don’t you get quiet on me.” He sat up with a devilish grin and made strong eye contact, which sent a delicious shiver down Steve’s spine. “I want every...” he kissed the center of his chest, “explicit...” licked a line down his abs, “detail.” Swallowed him down like it was nothing, and Steve gasped, curling his toes, wrapping his legs around Bucky’s tree-trunk waist, and combing (tugging) his fingers through that lovely chestnut hair. 

“I want you to fuck me through the mattress, Barnes. I want your dick deep in me. Break my fucking back, break the bed, I don’t care. I want your cock.” His words were feverish and rushed, too overcome by the sudden spark of arousal to really pay attention to himself, to anything but Bucky, Bucky, Bucky...

“You want me to ruin you, baby boy?”

Steve’s eyes glazed over for a moment, and he nodded wordlessly. His eyes locked with Bucky’s, and he stilled his legs, letting them fall to the sides, leaving him wide open for Bucky to do whatever he pleased. Steve looked like he would do anything he asked, anything at all. And he’s already proved that over and over again. 

The trust and love that Bucky had for this man hit him suddenly. At that moment, when Steve was too feverishly desperate to notice, Bucky felt like he could be knocked over with the heady effect of Steve, of his goodness and of how good it felt to be loved and to feel safe with him again.

“Ruin me, Buck,” He murmured, baring his throat and resting his hands on his tits. A little experimental squeeze to get Bucky’s blood pumping.

“Aw baby, you know how hot these make me.” He ran his palms up Steve’s abdomen, coming up to cover Steve’s hands with his own. Then, he pressed down and inwards to make those beautiful pecs pop, and at the same time ground down on Steve to relieve some of that sexual itch. He moved Steve’s hands and brought the left nipple to his mouth and pinched the other, feeling them hardening. Steve was breathing heavily, obviously trying to hold in his whimpers. 

Bucky nipped the side of his rib and whispered into his skin, quiet enough no one with normal hearing could tell, “I want to hear you scream. Don’t hold back from me or I’ll find a way to pay you back.” He brought a hand down and gripped Steve’s ass, turning him a little to give that cheek a slap, short but enough to bring a real sting. He rubbed the spot soon after, but didn’t miss Steve jump and whimper. “Now, turn over so I can get a look at that pretty hole I love so much.”

“Yes, sir.” Steve turned over like a good boy, pushing his ass in the air and his cheek on the mattress, hands above his head as if he were waiting to grab the headboard. Reinforced, like a lot of things in their house have to be. 

Bucky licked a stripe up his ass, right over the quivering hole (thank fuck Steve showered before they went out, because he was not in the mood for prep--no one thinks about the prep). Steve whined high in his throat, being a good boy and listening to what Bucky told him. Little hurt noises became Bucky’s favorite symphony for the next ten minutes as he worshipped Steve’s ass, taking the globes in each of his hands and massaging them, giving a good slap here and there to surprise him. His hole became a wet mess and Steve was panting like a bitch in heat; Bucky had to start holding onto his hips rather than his ass because he was subconsciously trying to hump the bed. Two slaps in quick succession on the same left cheek caused Steve to keen and grip a pillow, burying his face in it. 

Bucky stuck a lubed metal finger in, and Steve didn’t lift his face from the pillow, moaning as if it were Bucky’s dick--he really loves the metal hand. But Bucky said that he wanted to hear Steve, and he wasn’t hearing it. So, he stopped what he was doing, pulled the finger out and grabbed Steve by his hair, dragging him to Bucky’s chest. “Why do you not want to listen to me, doll?” He wrapped an arm around Steve’s middle and took his dick in the other hand. As he started to jack Steve off, he began to moan loudly again. “I told you that if you didn’t let me hear you, you would be punished, right?”

The blond panted and brought his hands up to Bucky’s hair, his head lolling back and resting on Bucky’s shoulder. “Yes, s--sir. I’m sorry, sir.” He began to hump his fist, the heat within his stomach picking up. He had a feeling he wouldn’t like what was coming next, so he was focusing on coming now. (Get it?)

Steve was trying to reach his orgasm as fast as possible now, thinking that Bucky would take it away from him, and so when he finally reached that point where his mind whited out, where Bucky’s lips, hands, and body lit him up from the inside, he didn’t think about punishment. 

It was when he sighed in relief that payback kicked in. As he tried to turn in Bucky’s arms, the other man stopped him, kept him in place, and continued jacking him off. Steve clutched Bucky’s arms and whimpered, clenching his eyes shut against the pain. “I’m sorry, sir! Please, it hurts.”

“I hope it does, baby boy. You’re so beautiful when you’re in pain. I bet your nipples hurt right now too, all tight after you came so good for me.” Bucky let go of Steve’s dick slowly, trailing his finger down the slit. Before Steve even had a chance to revel in the release of pain, his nipples were pinched hard. It stung, and he hissed through his teeth.

“Bucky, please.”

“Please what, baby?” He stilled his movements, taking a break to smooth his hands down Steve’s front and allowing him to breathe. 

“I need you in me. Need t’feel you close. I’m sorry.”

Bucky could tell Steve was starting to turn hard on himself, so he turned his baby around in his arms and took his face in his hands. “It’s okay, Stevie. You’ve taken your punishment so well, and I’m so proud.” He closed his eyes and preened at the compliment--it was what he was waiting for. “So how do you want me, sweetie? Tell me how to ruin you.”    
“That didn’t count? I feel pretty ruined,” Steve quipped despite everything. Smartass.

Bucky smirked. “Wanna stop?”

Steve kissed him slowly, passionately, enough for the other man to really feel every miniscule detail of their mouths, and all the places they touched, the space they shared together. “Never, if I can help it.”

Bucky pressed Steve into the bed with a small smile, hips rutting against him. Steve had already gotten off, but the heat was building in Bucky, his baby becoming more and more irresistible to him. Steve stared into Bucky’s eyes like a sap and nodded, and so the other man grabbed the base of his thick cock, angry red from being neglected so long, placing it at the entrance of Steve’s hole. 

Then, he shoved in all at once, and Steve’s made a punched-out sound, toes curled, legs involuntarily wrapping around Bucky’s waist. His head was thrown back and he struggled for purchase in Bucky’s hair, on the back of his neck. He groaned, wiggling his hips and allowing Bucky’s dick to make itself comfortable. 

“It feels so big, Buck, oh my fuck,” Steve’s eyes were unfocused, and his breathing stilted from every brutal thrust. At first, Bucky just rolled his hips, small and hard little piston movements that hit Steve’s spot deep. He wanted Steve to feel it. 

“You feel me in your ass, baby? Feel how much I want you, how much you turn me on?”

His head turned from side to side, as if he was trying to shake off the effects of Bucky’s words and his thrusts, but he couldn’t. Bucky was holding Steve by his shoulders, arms hooked underneath his arms so that he could prevent him from being pushed up the bed.

Steve wasn’t trying to hold anything back. He made continuous sounds, moans and whimpers and Bucky’s name. He felt Bucky pull almost all the way out, and even that was too much distance, so he shoved his hips down and back onto it. They made a rhythm out if it, Bucky sometimes making Steve fuck himself on his dick. “Fuck, Steve,” He said as he grabbed his ass, “that’s hot. You have such a hot body, so strong and all mine.”

“All yours, Bucky. I’m all yours.”

Bucky grinned. “What about this little slutty hole of yours?”

“It belongs to you,” He responds without missing a beat, sweat beading on his temple and breaths heaving, causing his beautiful tits to swell. “This hole is all for you, sir.” 

“Damn...fucking...right,” Bucky said each word pointedly, emphasizing them with a harsh thrust deep within. Then, he pulled out and Steve cried out, feeling the ache of emptiness. It didn’t last for long. Bucky, sat up, grabbed him by the hips, and flipped him over so that he was once again ass-up face-down. 

“Give it to me good, sir,” Steve looked over his shoulder and said in a raspy, demure voice. 

Bucky groaned and shoved his dick in, kneeing Steve’s legs far apart and grabbing him by the hips so that Steve was basically at his mercy. And mercy was something Bucky didn’t prioritize at the moment. 

His thrusts knocked Steve forwards and backwards, forcing whimpers and groans out of him. One particular press inward was so brutal Steve grabbed the headboard for dear life, and he didn’t let go. Bucky released his left hand grip to give some harsh smacks to Steve’s ass cheeks. He loved to watch the skin blush up, blood vessels breaking the surface sometimes. He especially loved it because every slap prompted Steve’s ass to spasm deliciously. Now, his hole was already tight, but knowing that it hurt a little bit gave them both an extra thrill.

Steve began to push back mindlessly, humping Bucky’s dick without even thinking about it. “Are you close to coming, Stevie?”

He nodded, moaning, tears trailing down his face absentmindedly. “Let go when you can, I want to feel it.” He pushed in all the way, so deep Steve couldn’t breathe, and leaned forward to press soft kisses to the side of Steve’s face. “You’re so good, I love you baby.” 

He returned to his own position, but rather than gripping Steve’s hips, he snaked one underneath and began jacking him off in time with his thrusts. Steve let out a particularly loud moan, and melted under the attention. A few deep pushes in and Steve froze up, his ass spasming around Bucky’s dick. He shut his eyes tightly, hands clenching in the sheets and toes curling with a mind-wiping orgasm. He didn’t notice, but Bucky came a few thrusts later, leaning down over him and pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to Steve’s shoulders. 

“I love you too, Buck,” Steve muttered into the comforter, sounding worn-out. Bucky lay there a bit longer, revelling in the post-orgasm high as his dick softened inside Steve. But when he tried to sit up a few minutes later to get them both positioned for bed, Steve yelped and tried tugging Bucky back to the bed.

“Baby,” he crooned. “I need to get us cleaned up, then we can cuddle and fall asleep.” Steve looked like he was about to cry, but he swallowed and nodded. Bucky kissed him lovingly on the lips, carding his fingers through sweaty blond hair in a soothing manner. Still, when he sat up and walked to the bathroom, Steve made a wounded noise. 

Once they were both taken care of, Steve immediately pressed his back against Bucky’s chest under the blanket and reached back for Bucky’s dick. “Are you sure, honey? It’s been a few minutes, you’re probably tight again,” He whispers against his ear, grabbing Steve’s hand at the base of his dick. 

“Don’t care Buck, I need you close. I need you here.” 

It did take some extra pushing, and Steve tried to bite back the whimpers, but he liked the hurt, and he knew Bucky knew he liked the hurt. Once Bucky was seated inside him, half hard, he wrapped his arms around Steve’s midsection and rested his head on Steve’s. 


End file.
